We bolted into the town square, airhorn blaring above us at maximum RUUUUUN. I slotted in behind Lia pulling Jorgen along, who, despite his recent near-death experience, was doing a damn good job keeping up with us. His healing was obviously money well spent, as he was showing pretty much no after-effects at all. Above both Lia's and my head, the red "Outlaw" status still pulsed in giant neon letters, throwing off the brightest of red lights that made it impossible to even think about hiding.

Even ignoring the countdown clock from our latest quest ticking down, I really didn't think we wanted to still be in town when that hit zero. We clearly had very little time to act before things got ugly – every single dot on my minimap was showing 'enemy.'

At the first turn we took, scrambling for the city gates, four guards stepped into view like they'd been waiting for us. Tower shields, polished glaives, the whole "you shall not pass" ensemble.

"Outlaws!" one barked. "Surrender, or face the Maker's justice!"

Lia didn't even hesitate. Sword out, she surged forward, slamming into the lead guard with fury. Her blade hit his chestplate and bounced, hard. The clang echoed like a temple bell. No blood. Not even a scratch.

It appeared that the buff which made WoW's Stormwind Guards such a joy was applicable here. These were City Guard and clearly buffed to the eyeballs. Either the Empire had handed out divine blessings, or someone had toggled the "unbeatable town guards" setting in the back end. With our luck at the moment, it was likely to be both.

This sucked as it meant I couldn't afford to join the fight. Not properly. If I tripped Aggro Magnetism on these guys now, every one of them would hone in like sharks scenting blood. If they were taking everything Lia had to throw at them without breaking a sweat, I didn't think that would end too well for me.

So I flanked, circling wide out of my aggro zone and ducking behind a low wall where a vendor stall had collapsed. I could see a couple of rotted beams, some loose plaster and a sagging canopy which looked plenty weighty.

That was all I needed.

One of the thicker posts had splintered at the base, leaning into the alley wall like a drunken prop. I reached for it, felt the familiar pull of Weighted Argument spool up in my muscles, and yanked. Wood cracked and stone groaned. Then I twisted, leveraged it high, and slammed it hard into the base of the wall just as Heavy Rebuttal triggered.

There was a muffled thoom, then the whole top half of the alley wall gave way, spilling tiles and beams in a perfect downward arc. One of the guards shouted. Another dove. None of them were fast enough to stop it.

I didn't think the rubble crushed anyone, but it did completely block the street. Dust billowed up in thick waves. Shouts rang out in front of us, confused and panicked. I had, by hook or by crook, created some perfect cover.

Lia didn't ask questions. She yanked Jorgen by the collar and bolted into the side alley I'd just opened up. I followed close. Sometimes the point isn't holding the line. It's knowing exactly where to break it.

"Yeah," Lia said. "Outlaw status is no joke."

We kept moving, darting through alleys that seemed to narrow with every turn. My minimap pulsed steadily, but it wasn't much help in the warren of Sablewyn's old quarter. Too many blind corners. Too many dead ends. And the guards weren't letting up, either.

Another horn blast sounded, and from the acoustics, they'd triangulated us again. Every time we looped or doubled back, another squad emerged like we'd tripped some invisible tripwire. I'd played all sorts of versions of this game before, but never with a nine-metre circle of 'instant rage juice' surrounding me.

"We've got to go up," Lia said, checking the rooftops.

"We're not rooftop material," I said. "We need down."

But a method of accessing Sablewyn's sewers wasn't presenting itself. Only more corner turns, more high walls, and tighter paths that felt less like escape and more like putting off the inevitable.

Jorgen was starting to flag. His breathing had become a harsh wheeze, and he stumbled every third step. "I'm—fine," he gasped, and immediately tripped over a loose cobble. He slammed into a collapsed heap of crates and hit the ground with a wet thump.

"Come on!" I hissed, skidding to a halt. Lia turned back instantly, blade half-raised, scanning for threats.

"I've got him—" I started, crouching beside the groaning mess of a man, but then I noticed the stone he'd dislodged wasn't just some loose paving.

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A half-rotted plank had shifted under his weight, revealing a lipped iron grate beneath. Circular, rusted, and almost completely hidden under layers of grime and trash. My eyes tracked the faint depression in the stonework around it. Drainage. Not surface. Substructure.

A sewer access.

"Down here!" Adrenaline sliced away any lingering doubt. I wrenched the grate up with both hands. It fought me, shrieking against the hinges, but eventually gave, revealing a narrow shaft with a ladder descending into foul-smelling dark.

"Are you joking?" Lia said, nose wrinkling.

"Does it look like I'm joking? Unless you've got a better idea that doesn't involve getting pincushioned by civic justice—"

She didn't argue. Just hauled Jorgen over the edge and started down. I followed last, jamming the grate back into place behind me. The metal groaned but held.

The three of us landed in a damp passage below. The smell was horrendous, and I gagged, trying to ignore the sludge seeping into my boots. Above, footsteps thundered as guards ran past, their voices echoing through the alleyways, cursing our escape.

We didn't get a moment's rest, though.

Barely a second of our daring escape passed before the alarms blared again, and I could see flashing lights through the gaps in the grate above us. The glow from our Outlaw status was like a homing beacon, drawing every guard in the vicinity like moths to our particular red flame. If those moths were armed enough to take on an army and their health bars were insane.

Lia clenched her teeth, accessing her stat screen with visible frustration. "I can't keep getting into a scrap with them," she said. "As long as we're flagged as Outlaws, there's nothing I have to throw at them. We have to get out of the city, fast."

"I'm open to suggestions," I said, ducking as a searchlight scanned the area. Even in the dim light, the red glow over our heads was a dead giveaway.

Jorgen's voice was almost panicked. "There's no reasoning with them—they're all Maker's men through and through. They live for one thing: Order."

After what felt like an eternity of twisting turns, dead ends, and near-misses, we finally found a ladder leading back up to street level. I climbed up first, peeking out to find an alleyway clear of guards. We emerged one by one, ducking into the shadows to catch our breath.

"Great," I panted. "Now what? We just keep running until we collapse or they catch us?"

Lia didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the street, eyes scanning for threats. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked scared. We'd faced wolves, crazed rebels, and that gloating monster Berker, but an entire city hunting us down? This was different.

As I was about to suggest making a break for the main gate, time came to a crashing halt around me. It was like the moment when Katya shot me. Everything just came to a pause.

Do you truly believe you can escape what I have built?

It was a voice, but not one I heard in my ears. One that seemed to reverberate within me. It made me feel like I was a toy someone else was very, very bored with.

I looked around me; everything was stuck as though the entire world was caught in an infinite loading screen. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe! And I felt extremely... noticed. In a Frodo-trying-to-sneak-up-Mount-Dun kind of way.

In fact, it was exactly like a giant, malevolent magnifying glass had been put on the whole of humanity and was finding me in particular to be small, flawed, and hopelessly disordered.

I tried to speak, but the voice resumed, cutting me off like it had been waiting for my breath to hitch. Order is the foundation of all. To reject it is to invite collapse. And yet you walk unmarked, unmeasured, unmeant. Defiant of every law inscribed upon this plane.

My mouth worked against the weight of whatever force held me. Even forming sounds felt like pushing my thoughts through a layer of syrup and broken glass.

"Uh… sorry?"

The voice – obviously the Maker, because who else would speak in all caps and metaphysical passive aggression - seemed to tighten around me, though I don't know how. Maybe the air folded. Maybe the code twitched.

You were not summoned. You were not chosen. You were not written. And yet here you are, dragging chaos like oil across the sacred weave.

"Well, I didn't exactly book the trip." My voice came out flatter than I meant. "I didn't even know there was a script."

Your ignorance is no defence. The voice surged, each word like a gavel drop. You are a Warden in name only. Guardian of a Threshold you were not intended to anchor. That role was marked for another, and she understood the price. She paid it, as was proper.

Aunt M. The Maker didn't name her, but it didn't have to. It savoured her absence. I could feel it. Like a bureaucrat who'd finally filed the last overdue form and was now smug about the efficiency of death.

She knew her role. She knew her place. She ended as she must.

"Ended?" I said the word, catching in my throat. "You mean you—?"

She obeyed the Order. You mock it. The Dark Wren accepts the necessity of sacrifice. Her role is pain. Pattern. Containment. She remains useful.

"And me?"

You are void given motion. A blank space in a structured world. Even the Threshold abhors your presence.

"Well, thanks for the warm welcome! I'll be sure to mention that in my Google Review."

The chaos must be sealed. The page turned. The story corrected. If the Dark Wren does not offer herself, you will remain the anomaly. You will fracture what remains.

I squared my shoulders. "So what? You want Lia to die here so your precious story stays neat?"

Correct.

The voice faded like breath on glass, but not before a cold certainty settled behind my eyes. The Maker didn't want me. Never had.

But it couldn't get rid of me either. And it sure as hell wasn't taking her instead.

"It's a funny thing about selfless self-sacrifice, mate. It's rarely the only option. There's always an easier, less attention-seeking path . . ."

And with that, the world snapped back into motion, the sounds of Sablewyn rushing in again, just as frantic as before.

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